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27
ALESSA
Isqueak, jumping in place and swallowing a mouthful of salty water in the process. I’d be impressed at the fancy saltwater pool if I wasn’t currently hacking up a lung and trying to stay alive. Finally, after I’m sure drowning is no longer in my immediate future, I tread to the edge of the pool and, holding onto the ledge, I look up at Angelo.
“I’d totally be swimming if I knew how to, but never learned, so…”
“Get out of the pool,” Angelo orders, his jaw tighter than a pair of spandex shorts. Silly, silly Mafia boy. Doesn’t he already know that I don’t take well to orders? Dante should have warned him. But I suppose it’s not really Angelo’s fault his brother has the communication skills of a toddler.
Smiling, I let go of the ledge and slip my hands back under water before taking a few steps away. I’m careful, but fast enough for him not to realise what I’m doing until I’m out of reach. “For fuck’s sake, Alessa. Saint is going to kill me if you drown in his pool on my watch.”
I cock my head to the side. My curiosity piqued. “Why did you refer to him as Saint? I don’t get it.” From myobservations, he’s as far from a saint as one can be so the nickname really doesn’t work.
“I’ll tell you if you get out of the pool,” he rebuts.
“Tell meandI will get out of the pool.” I arch my eyebrow and take a step in the direction of the deep end.
“Jesus, she’s got a death wish, and she’s going to drag me with her… Fine. Fine!” he shouts as I take another step, enjoying the desperation in his voice. “Just go back to where you were first before I have a heart attack. Please.” He adds the last bit while I try to hold in my triumphant grin.
Since he asked so nicely, I decide to not stress him out further and with a sigh, I finally move a couple of steps toward the shallow end of the pool.
“Dante is going to have his hands full with you,” Angelo murmurs.
I don’t tell him he already does. I wait for his explanation instead, like the good girl that I am.
“We’re allSaints,” he starts, placing his thumb and index fingers on his temples, rubbing them in a circular motion.
“Like the whole Mafia? Or more like we’re all saints walking this earth every day churchy propaganda?”
He sniggers. I’d take a step back, but he’s quick to continue. “No.Weas in Dante, Luca and I. Santoro roughly translates to ‘born on All Saints’ Day’.”
“So it’s just your surname?” I know I sound disappointed, but I was hoping there was a bit more to that. “I was hoping there was more to it,” I say just that.
“We all had blonde hair when we were kids, and our mum used to call us her little Saints. It stuck. Except we’re no longer blonde, and no one would dare to call us little.”
“Oh?”
“They wouldn’t want to lose their life for disrespect.”
I roll my eyes at the typical Mafia macho man talk and make my way to the steps. A deal is a deal.
Angelo groans. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“I didn’t have a swimming suit.” I turn to him, only to discover his back is to me. “Are you okay?”
“Just—Just put something on before my brother finds out and loses his shit.”
I huff, forcing my jeans and top over my wet body. Whatever.
“So, your mum used to call you Saint?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“You can turn around now,” I say, grabbing my shoes from the floor and walking barefoot back to the house, leaving wet footprints with each step. “What’s her name?”
“Her name was Elena.” His voice is distant and sad. But I can’t stop the thrill that runs through me at another puzzle piece fitting neatly. It must be the same Elena Massimo was referring to.
“I’m sorry, did she pass away recently?”
